Belly of the Beast
by gloomygnu
Summary: "It was only one night. But, of course, she didn't really believe it anymore." In which Veronica asks for a favour, Logan suffers and they bond over a shared secret. Pre-series AU. Oneshot. See notes for warnings.


**Belly of the Beast  
**

**Author's note:** This story was written in response to one of the Veronica Mars March Fic Prompts (_Option 6d: __It was just for one night_). You can check out the prompts by going to Veronica Mars Fanfiction Recommendations tumblr. I misremembered the prompt but the story shouldn't be affected. Thanks in advance for your support.

Logan and Veronica are around fourteen years old in the story.

**Warnings:** The following story contains discussions, descriptions and references to child abuse and references to alcoholism. Please continue with care.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Veronica Mars. I don't own any of the characters, the settings or the ideas related to Veronica Mars.

* * *

It was only one night.

That's what Veronica told herself when she stepped out of the car. She looked at the Echolls' house and wondered whether to be annoyed (because Lilly just _had_ to be away the weekend Lianne started drinking again, didn't she?) or nervous (because although Logan said it was okay to stay the night, what if he asked _why_ she needed to stay the night or why she had called from a pay phone or any number of other, awkward things that Veronica really didn't want to discuss?). She was actually surprised he hadn't pressed the issue on the phone…

"It's fine," Veronica said, gripping the pay phone tightly. "It's not that far to your house. I can walk. It's not a problem." But Logan wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Where are you?"

Veronica sighed. She wasn't really in the mood to argue. She didn't really want to walk to the Echolls' house at all. She figured this occasion, out of any, would be the best occasion to accept the services of the Echolls' driver. She gave Logan the address.

"A car will be there straight away," Logan said. He started hanging up the phone. But Veronica wasn't ready to finish the conversation. She wasn't ready to be left in the dim orange light of the street lamp and the dark thoughts of her drunken mother screaming at her.

"Wait!" Veronica shouted, before remembering her surroundings and lowering her voice. "Wait! Would you… Would you stay on the phone? I don't want to be—" She stopped, embarrassed.

"Sure," Logan agreed. "I'll stay on the phone."

Then a voice in the background distracted him. He muttered "just a sec" into the phone and covered the receiver to reply to the voice. But Veronica could still make out some of the words.

"—you thinking?" said the voice.

"—sorry, it wasn't—" Logan replied.

"—don't want to—"

"—please—"

"—in the study, Logan."

Then Logan was back.

"Veronica?" Logan said, his voice strange and hard. "I've got to go. When you get here you can go through the side gate to the pool house." And there was nothing.

Veronica waited, clutching the phone.

She waited for one minute, for two minutes, for three minutes. She was about to call back when a car pulled close to the curb. Its headlights flashed, glaring at her harshly for a moment and making her heart _thump-thump _heavily in her chest. Then the Echolls' driver stepped out of the car and Veronica sighed in relief, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.

* * *

It was only one night.

That's what Veronica told herself when she wiped her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve. She pushed against the gate that led to the Echolls' pool house and made her way around the side of the house. The air was cool, making her shiver. Strange shadows reached out to grab her, making her jump. It was silent, save for the soft gurgling of the pool and the gentle, static hum of the lights in the backyard.

Veronica gazed at the shimmering, glowing surface of the pool. The water swayed. It almost seemed to be pulsing; moving with a rhythm Veronica couldn't help but follow with her eyes, with her thoughts. It was mesmerising. It was calming.

Then a muffled cry diverted her attention. Her ears strained to identify the location of the sound. Her eyes widened when she realised the sound was coming from inside the Echolls' house.

She stilled. She briefly considered calling out. But felt the better of it when another cry sounded, this time louder and filled with pain. She approached one of the windows, crouching underneath the sill and lifting her head slowly, carefully, to look through the glass. Her muscles tensed…

But there was no one in the room. It was dark. Shaking her head, perhaps to focus her thoughts or maybe to shake away the fear that crept across her skin, Veronica moved away from the window and continued along the wall. She was almost crawling through the garden. Plants brushed against the bare skin of her legs, making her flinch.

She came to another window. Veronica was about to look through the window when a sharp crack sounded. She paused. The sound was close. It was coming from the room, from the window Veronica was crouching underneath. There was another crack and another cry. Then a different sound caught her attention. A voice, making her freeze in fear and the blood drain from her face. A voice, cold and clear.

"Why do you always disobey me, Logan?"

Veronica recognised the voice. She'd heard it while watching the latest Hollywood film with Lilly, blasting through the surround-sound speakers and accompanied with a charming smile. She'd heard it ask her about her day and about her mother. She'd heard it scold Logan for leaving a puddle of water on the floor after swimming. Deceivingly friendly.

She raised her head to look through the glass.

Mr Echolls stood with his back towards the window. He was holding a long brown belt in his hand and leaning over Logan, who was kneeling on the clean grey carpet of the study. He pulled his hand back and whipped the belt against Logan's bare back. It was already criss-crossed with awful wounds; harsh red welts that trickled blood down his skin and contrasted greatly with the pale white scars of old wounds which had healed long ago.

Logan grimaced. Veronica, clutching her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out, lowered herself below the window and closed her eyes.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to stay underneath the window, curl into herself and cry. But it wouldn't be safe to do so. She was painfully aware that Mr Echolls was still in the room, that he could discover her position at any moment – and what would he do if he found her?

Veronica sniffed quietly. She didn't risk looking through the glass again. She moved onto her hands and knees and crawled away from the window.

She wondered if the safest option would be to go home. But home meant dealing with her an abusive parent of her own, who was last seen grabbing an almost empty bottle of vodka and hurling it against the door as Veronica closed it behind her. That didn't sound particularly appealing. And besides, it wouldn't be very helpful to Logan.

She wondered if his mother would help clean his wounds. But remembered that Mrs Echolls was away for a spa weekend. And surely Mrs Echolls wouldn't let her husband hurt her son if she knew what was happening, right?

Veronica didn't know. She didn't know about one parent stopping the other parent from hitting their child because her dad had left and her mother made sure no one suspected a thing.

It was decided then.

She started towards the pool house. She'd wait there for Logan. She'd wait there and offer to help him. She didn't know why she thought Logan would go to the pool house or why she thought Logan would accept her help. But she couldn't pretend like nothing had happened.

* * *

It was only one night.

That's what Veronica told herself when Logan walked into the pool house with his shirt off. It was supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be a happy reprieve from the difficulties at home – the drinking and the screaming and the shattering of glass. He noticed her straight away. Tears on his cheeks. Blood on his back. He stopped, frozen in the middle of the room, and attempted to arrange his features into something vaguely considered happy.

"Veronica!" Logan greeted, offering a weak smile. "I… I forgot you were coming over. Well..." He started moving across the room, doing his best to keep his back out of view and his voice cheerful. He spoke rapidly. "Well, I think I'll have a shower before we get settled. Should we watch a movie? Some popcorn? Some ice-cream? Why don't you think about it? I'll just have a quick shower." And before Veronica could reply Logan slipped into the bathroom and locked the door.

She heard shuffling. She heard running water.

She waited for one minute, two minutes, three minutes. She worried that something had happened to him in the shower when the door jolted open. Logan emerged from the room, wearing a shirt and rubbing his hair with a towel. His cheeks were pink. His eyes were bright and glassy. Veronica suspected he'd taken some pain killers.

"So, what movie will we be watching?"

Veronica didn't reply straight away. He was speaking normally now. He was a good actor. She could understand how he'd managed to hide the truth from her all this time. He looked at her after a moment. She took a deep breath.

"You should treat the wounds to avoid any infection."

"What?" Logan asked.

"You should treat the wounds," Veronica repeated, with confidence. "To avoid infection and advance the healing process." She spoke the words she'd once read on a medical website. "Running hot water over the wounds won't help."

"What do you know?" Logan retorted, guarded and angry.

"I saw you in the study," Veronica admitted. "I… I saw your dad hitting you with—"

"You were spying on me?!"

"What?!" Veronica exclaimed. "I wasn't _spying_! I was walking to the pool house and I heard… I heard you crying out. I _couldn't_… I couldn't just ignore it!"

"You wouldn't have been the first," Logan muttered.

Veronica paused. She watched Logan gripping the edge of his shirt and clenching his fists tightly into the fabric; twisting and untwisting, twisting and untwisting. She stood from the bed. "Logan," Veronica murmured, making slow, deliberate movements. "Please, Logan, let me help. _Please._ I promise… I promise…" She trailed off. She couldn't promise to protect him. She could barely protect herself. She couldn't promise to never mention it either.

She was close enough to reach out to him. She grasped his hands and squeezed, trying to reassure him and comfort him. She couldn't figure out how to convince him to let her help.

But in the end Veronica didn't have to say anything. Logan, without uttering a word, dropped his hands from her hold. He tugged at the edge of his shirt and raised his arms in an attempt to remove the shirt. But he released a hiss, a small whimper of pain, when the fabric rubbed uncomfortably against his back.

Veronica assisted, pulling the shirt gently over his head and discarding it on the floor. She placed one of her hands against his cheek and gave him a tentative, yet warm, smile.

She dropped her hand and moved towards the bathroom. "Is there a first-aid kit in the bathroom?" Veronica asked.

"Uh, yeah," Logan replied.

"Well, you sit down and I'll just… I'll just find it," Veronica said, gesturing to the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom and returned within minutes, carrying a small plastic box with a red cross printed on the lid. She gestured to the bed again. "Right," Veronica declared. "This will probably be easier if you lie down."

* * *

It was only one night.

That's what Veronica told herself when she searched through the first-aid kit. But, of course, she didn't really believe it anymore. Logan settled onto his stomach, wincing slightly and gritting his teeth with the movement. He finally stilled and turned his head to watch Veronica. He flinched as her hand ghosted across his back.

"They're different to mine," Veronica whispered. Her hands moved slowly, methodically; first pressing an ice-pack into the swelling skin and then rubbing cream against the angry wounds.

"What?" Logan asked. He couldn't focus on anything other than the pain. Well, the pain and Veronica's fingers, softly rubbing the cream into the welts on his back and humming under her breath.

"Belts leave straighter scars than broken glass."

"I didn't..." Logan started. "I didn't know."

"Yeah," Veronica sighed. "That was sort of the point."

"Why didn't you—"

"Tell you?" Veronica finished. "Why do you think? Why didn't _you_ tell anyone?" She screwed the lid back onto the jar of cream and pulled some bandages from the first-aid kit.

"Because I didn't think anyone would believe me," Logan confessed, speaking to the pillow rather than Veronica herself. "Because how could anyone believe that _the_ Aaron Echolls liked to beat his son when he was rejected for an acting part?"

"Is that why—"

"Nah," Logan said. "Not this time. He found out I skipped class on Friday to go surfing with Dick. He wasn't happy, to say the least." He muttered the last part to himself.

They lapsed into an almost-comfortable silence. The sort of silence that comes from revealing secrets and discovering a common ground. The sort of silence that comes from suddenly understanding someone. The sort of silence that comes from not needing to provide any half-hearted excuses or silly explanations.

Veronica covered the last wound with a bandage and started cleaning up the supplies which littered most of the bed. "My mum drinks," Veronica stated. "My mum drinks and usually she's pretty harmless. But sometimes, if she's had a bad week or she's had a recent break-up... She drinks too much. She gets angry and emotional and—"

"She takes it out on you?" Logan offered, when it seemed like Veronica wouldn't continue.

"She blames me," Veronica said. "She blames me for my dad leaving. She blames me for her drinking. She blames me for everything." She raised her hand and lifted the hair at the back of her neck. Across the smooth skin was a network of thin pink scars that criss-crossed and disappeared underneath her shirt.

Logan stared. Veronica dropped her hand and turned to him. She shrugged sadly. She was crying.

"She didn't appreciate it when I threw out most of her alcohol," Veronica explained. "She threw a wine bottle at me in return. I was twelve."

"Veronica," Logan murmured. He was feeling a bit sleepy, probably because of the pain killers. He struggled to keep his eyes open. "It isn't your fault, Veronica." He yawned, leaning his head against the pillows.

"Thanks, Logan," Veronica replied. It was comforting to hear. It was comforting even though Logan didn't know the entire story regarding _why_ her dad left.

She left the room to put away the first-aid kit. While in the bathroom, Veronica stood in front of the mirror and surveyed her swollen eyes and damp cheeks. She splashed some cool water against her face.

She returned to the room to the sight of Logan sleeping. Resting on his stomach. Pressing his face into the pillow. Veronica took a moment to consider her sleeping friend. He seemed more relaxed in his sleep. He seemed happy – without the bravado and the sharp-tongue, without the arrogance and the cheeky-grin.

Veronica was feeling sleepy herself. It was late. All the emotion and exhaustion from the night slammed into her suddenly. She stumbled to the other side of the bed – the side Logan wasn't sleeping on – and dropped onto the mattress. She wondered if tomorrow would be different. She wondered if Logan would act any differently after learning of her secret. She wondered if she'd act any different. But, before considering any of these thoughts in great detail, Veronica drifted to sleep.

She hadn't even removed her shoes…

* * *

It was only one night.

That's what Veronica told herself when she was walking out of the pool house. Logan had woken her early. He didn't want his dad to discover Veronica had stayed the night. He didn't want his dad to suspect that Veronica knew about the abuse.

Veronica had agreed. It wasn't really her place to say otherwise.

"Well."

"Well," Logan echoed.

They walked along the side of the house in silence. They both felt somewhat uncomfortable. They questioned what to say and how to act. They stopped at the driveway. In front of them the Echolls' driver stood at attention beside the car. Logan had arranged for Veronica to be driven part of the way to her house. He didn't think his father would notice one of the cars gone at this hour of the morning.

"I meant it," Veronica said, looking at the ground. "I meant it when I said I wouldn't ignore it." She glanced at him quickly. "If you… If you ever need anyone to… I don't know, to help or whatever, you can call me."

"Thanks, Veronica," Logan nodded. "If you ever need to stay the night again, you can call me."

Veronica took a tentative step forward. She wrapped her arms carefully around Logan's waist for one second, two seconds, three seconds. Then she pulled away.

She gave him a smile; genuine and sweet and completely Veronica.

He gave her a smirk in return.

FIN.


End file.
